


In for a penny (In for a pound)

by Nirmalneaners



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove Is Bad at Feelings, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Bisexual Male Character, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Breaking Up & Making Up, Denial of Feelings, Feels, Gay Billy Hargrove, Gay Male Character, Hair Kink, Hair-pulling, Idiots in Love, M/M, Making Out, POV Billy Hargrove, Smoking, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Strained Relationships, gay kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:14:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24427825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nirmalneaners/pseuds/Nirmalneaners
Summary: Its silent for a while. Billy's face still cradled in his palm, thumb stroking his cheek and fingers resting against his hip. He drinks it in, not daring to move no matter how much he wanted to run his hands up Steve's shirt and press his face to his stomach. Trap him in his arms. Imagines being so close he becomes a literal part of him, wants to see if Steve could leave him then.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 61





	In for a penny (In for a pound)

"You can't even look people in the eyes." He says as he gestures towards him with a half-assed wave of his hand. Hot ash falls from his cigarette pinched tight between two fingers. "You always look at their nose or, fuck, what was her name? That tall girl with the big tits talking to you yesterday, you stared at her fucking spot. Bet that made her feel just _groovy_."

Steve fiddles with his shoelace and looks over at him with a frown. Proves his point as he stares at his lips and says, "Eyes talk."

Billy snorts, "what the hell does that mean?"

"You never heard Mrs. Belmont say about the soul and how the eyes are like, they're like a window?" He asks, pulling his shoelace loose. 

Billy takes a drag of his cigarette and leaves it to hang between his lips as he sits up and scoots a little closer. He swats Steve's hands away and grabs at it, feels the burn of the smoke in his nostrils as he makes two loops and crosses them over. 

"People can say whatever they want, they don't have to _mean_ it. Words don't care. But eyes? They cant lie."

He pulls the knot tight, eyebrows furrowed as he settles his hands on Steve's ankles and sits back on his heels. Feels the bumps of his bones and the soft socks against his palms as he looks at the lace as it rests against his shoe and pulls the corners of his lips down. 

Asks, "Isn't that a reason to look at eyes though? To make sure what people say to you is real?"

He's being a hypocrite. He does the same thing more than he'd like, especially with Steve. But he also gets this deep dread when he watches him sometimes, how he will talk to nancy and stare at her hair or talk to a teacher and focus on their chins. Lack of eye contact sets him on edge as much as it makes him uncomfortable. He thinks of the hot sting in his cheek and fingers digging into his jaw as Neil forces him to look him in his eyes and spits _show me some respect, boy_ , when his eyes stray. How he'll apologize on Sundays after church for the black eyes and the bruised ribs as they work on the truck and Billy will stare at his mustache and swallow down the hurt as _respect and responsibility_ rings in her ears.

He squeezes Steve's ankle and pinches his lips together around the filter, stares at a strand of cotton on his socks that wisps every time the breeze picks up. He should cut it off before it gets worse.

"Maybe-" he pauses, and billy waits. Presses his thumb into a dip in his ankle and massages it. He knows that sometimes steve needs a little time to find words that attach to his thoughts. "Maybe, sometimes, it's easier to believe a lie than know the truth. If that- I mean does even make sense?"

He nods. Takes another drag and grabs steves hand with both of his, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles, marvels at how smooth they are as he catches sight of his own. Rough and scarred, a few with still healing scabs. Steve has a small scar on his index finger, and it's the only blemish he has found on them. His lip quirks at it, and he pulls his hand up until his lips press against the small silver line.

"I get it," he says against his skin, smoke spilling from his mouth as he kisses it again, their eyes locking for a brief moment. Because he does. He gets it so much it fucking _hurts_. But he also knows the hurt that comes when the truth is avoided, and it scares him sometimes that steve who has soft hands and unmarred skin may find out one day and billy won't be around to protect him from the Neil's of the world.

He sits up onto his knees and scoots forward and Steve moves like water against him. Legs stretching and arms wrapping around his waist as he settles in his lap. He rakes his fingers through his hair, watches as Steve's head tips back. Mouth parted, eyes closed. His Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows and sighs. He sucks in more smoke and lowers his hand until the filter rests against Steve's lips, licks his own as they seal around the end and the cherry burns brighter as his cheeks hollow. He replaces it with his mouth, hand cradling Steve's head as lips slide and tounges dance and their smoke mingles together as they breathe into each other mouths.

It's not a heated kiss. It's slow, and it's over before anything starts. Steve pulls away first, rests their foreheads together, and the arms around his waist tightens as they breathe. He's dropped the cigarette in favor of stroking Steve's cheekbone with his thumb, and he breathes out slowly as their noses brush, strokes his hand lower until the pad of his thumb rests on his bottom lip.

"We can't keep doing this." He says, and billy feels his lips move around his thumb, feels it pop out from under his pad. He tilts Steve's chin and presses their lips back together.

"Yeah," he sighs, ever the addict, kissing him again.

"I mean it." He whispers, small and barely coherent between presses of their lips, almost like he doesn't want the words to exist. Or maybe that's just Billy projecting. "I mean it this time."

He hums, rubs his fingers into Steve's scalp, and hears as he groans low against his mouth, feels his lips tingle from the vibration of it as he's pushed forward a little more snugly. He slides his hands down his back, rucks up Steve's shirt to press his palms against warm skin, and rocks forward slowly. Smothers his lips before Steve could remember to tell him to stop.

He never liked kissing all that much but Steve treats it as an art form. Dances his tongue along his bottom lip and into Billy's mouth, caress the back of his teeth, and leads their tounges in a soft waltz. He runs his fingers up the back of his neck and into his hair until he has a handful of curls. He doesn't push or pull, though, not like billy would. He just holds him and let's billy decide what he wants.

He digs his fingertips into Steve's back and rocks a little more firmly, still just as slow. Pushes their groins closer and they both let out a breathy moan. He presses back down to deepen the kiss, curves his spine, and gets his hands between them on Steve's belt.

" _Billy_ ," he says tightly, hands gripping his hips still. Steve turns his head away and billy really couldn't help it when he tries to follow. He stills his hands and just holds the leather. Rests his forehead against his temple and nuzzles the side of Steve's face and breathes him in. "I'm _serious_. I can't keep doing this to Nancy."

 _Huh_. He's serious. Can't let her down but it's fine to do it to _him_.

"Right, course not." He huffs when Steve squeezes his hips. He kisses his cheek, right over his favorite freckle, and forces himself to pull back. Feels an ache spark in his chest. "The fuck was I thinking, right? Cant let princess _bitch_ down."

"Hey, don't call her that." He says, tired sounding. Bone weary. Probably is, they've had this conversation a lot. "She's my girlfriend billy, I don't want to lose her."

His jaw tenses as he looks off to the trees. He feels Steve's eyes on him, his hands stroking up and down his sides like he's seen him do to girls in the halls, or when he turns up to meet her late at lunch because he was behind the bleachers with billy and shes pissed off at him. He's placating him like some bitch, like _that bitch_ , and he laughs bitterly and shakes his head.

"Billy-"

"I _get it_ , Can't keep the _princess_ waiting." He sneers, tries to make it sound more mocking than hateful. More, _boy are you whipped than I wish I was her._

He stands at that thought, feels the loss of Steve's hands and his heat as he steps over him and sniffs. Starts walking over to his car and pretends he didn't hear steve call after him. He leans in through the window to grab his smokes and the zippo off the dash and sits on the hood. He bites the filter as he shakes the zippo roughly, tries to spark it, and ends up rubbing at his eyes roughly because the stupid thing _won't fucking light._

A hand catches his wrist and a soft, "let me try," has his fingers slowly unclasping. Steve raises it, cups the one side, and sets to spark it. He tries once, twice, and a small flickering flame comes to life on the third try. 

His eyes slip shut as he gets that first burn of smoke in his lungs, and he keeps them closed when steve stands closer between his legs. 

A hand cups his cheek and he leans into it, blows out a smoky breath as he presses his lips to his palm and opens his eyes to find steve looking at him. Not at his nose, or the scar in his eyebrow, but straight into his eyes with a pinch in his brows and his mouth pouting.

He's fucking beautiful.

He's beautiful and it's kind of poetic, he thinks, steve and his zippo. A sick sort of irony he's reminded of often about this _thing_ between them. Whatever it is. Not friends but not nothing either. He doesn't know how to explain it except _not together._ Not together because steve is with the country club queen- daddies pick of the week- and Billy is, well, _Billy_. He'll never be what daddy Harrington sees for the firm. For _Steve_.

"You free next week?"

Billy doesn't even have to think. "For you pretty boy? Always."

He nods, and its silent for a while. Billy's face still cradled in his palm, thumb stroking his cheek and fingers resting against his hip. He drinks it in, not daring to move no matter how much he wanted to run his hands up Steve's shirt and press his face to his stomach. Trap him in his arms. Imagines being so close he becomes a literal part of him, wants to see if Steve could leave him then.

He always does though. And billy pinpoints the moment the decisions made. His shoulders pulling back and whole face pinching. Something in his chest aches viciously as his gaze slants a little, just a too little off to be looking in steves eyes anymore. 

"I'll be here next Tuesday. Same time," he murmurs, "I'll see you then, billy."

He studies the moles on his cheek. "Sure thing."

It hurts, wrapping himself back up in his armor. Trying to put some distance back between them. He never meant to get attached. Knows deep down that one day this is going to end and one of them will come to the quarry and wait and wait and wait and no one else will turn up. The story will end. That will be that. He knows deep down with a sick feeling that it won't be him with something better to do.

The hand lingers on his cheek as steve sighs, and he looks out over the quarry as his heads tipped upwards by soft fingers as Steve leans down and kisses his temple. Lips pressing for a few seconds too long before he steps out of Billy's line of sight.

He gets the familiar urge to call out, to grab Steve and ask him to stay as his footsteps fade further away. Hears a car door open and shut as he strokes his thumb over the surface of his lighter. He does nothing. Instead, he listens as the rumble of the beamer disappears off into the distance and sucks on his cigarette.

He looks down at his zippo when his skin catches on a rough edge, sees the familiar messy carvings scratched into metal, and squeezes it in his fist.

_S.H + B.H_

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos would be greatly appreciated😁


End file.
